


Between Sinners And Saints

by ruxian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Civil War Fix-It, Conflict Resolution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Recovery, Speculation, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruxian/pseuds/ruxian
Summary: Tony never thought he’d be back on Earth again. Never thought he’d see his precious Pepper and Rhodey again, or the Avengers together ever again.He thought he’d be doomed to die in that ship, to suffocate and starve to death next to Nebula in a last ditch attempt to get home.But the universe was never that kind, was it?





	Between Sinners And Saints

**Author's Note:**

> hi and welcome to hell. 
> 
> i’ve been lovingly working on this for the last week, and i hope you enjoy it just as i enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> and i hope you have lots of tissues on hand. you have been warned :)

Earth. 

He’s back on Earth. 

Somehow. 

He’d been (more than) half-hoping the journey back home would put him out of his misery, once and for all. 

Let him see his ki–

But, the universe had never been so kind to him, had it? It had never, not once, given him a break, a moment to breathe between one tragedy and the next, so why would this time be any different?

He finds himself glad for a second that he’s alive when the Guardian’s broken ship touches down, because he’s barely halfway down the ramp, leaning heavily on Nebula, when he hears a broken shout of his name and then there’s Pepper, his Pepper, _alive_ and _whole_ , bolting across the grass right for him. He sees other people behind her, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t pay them any mind because that’s _Pepper_. Nebula takes a step, as if to shield him, but she relents when he squeezes her hand on his arm and stumbles to catch Pepper, holding her as tight as his battered body will allow. 

“Tony, oh my _God_ , Tony, you’re okay, oh my God, you’re _okay, you’re okay_ ,” Pepper’s whispering, over and over, hands roaming over his head, shoulders and arms like she can’t believe he’s actually there. 

He just closes his eyes and holds on. 

Pepper, his beautiful, incredible, strong and wonderful _Pepper_ , pulls back, and he immediately misses her warmth, but she just cradles his face, rubbing her thumbs across his cheekbones. 

“What, no tears for your dear old boss?” The joke falls flat, his voice too weak and close to death, he knows it, but it’s all he can manage and Pepper coughs on a smile, for just a second. 

“You haven’t been my boss for a very, very long time. I thought… I thought you were _dead_ , Tony,” she whispers, wet and teary. “I thought you were dead, _again_ , and you _promised_ you wouldn’t do something like that again! Tony–” She chokes on a sob, and weakly he hauls her back into his arms. 

“You know you can’t get rid of ‘im that easy, Pep,” Rhodey jokes, and Tony’s heart just lurches and he’s thanking a God he doesn’t believe in because _Rhodey_ is alive too, standing solid and _real_ right behind Pepper. 

Pepper lets him go after a moment, and Tony stumbles his way to Rhodey, who catches him and holds him just as tight as Pepper did. 

“ _I’m_ gonna be the one with the heart problem if you keep disappearing on me, Tones,” Rhodey says, cradling the back of his head. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sourpatch,” he rasps back, leaning more on Rhodey than he really wants to, but it’s okay because Rhodey, his Rhodey, holds him steady. 

He’s never been more thankful to hear the soft whirring of Rhodey’s leg braces than he is now. 

Reluctant, he pulls away from his best-friend, finally looking at the people gathered around him. 

Bruce, who looks seconds away from darting towards him to look him over, smiles at him. He finds a bit of energy to smile back. Natasha, looking as stoic as ever at first, but then he looks for another moment, and yes, her eyes are wet. And, well, he won’t tell if she won’t. There’s a small smile crawling on her lips, and the wave of relief that flows through him is strong. 

He turns, and suddenly he can’t breathe, can’t move. 

“Tony,” Steve says, curt, but there’s a quiver of relief there in his name. 

“Cap,” he returns, forcing the nickname through his teeth, but he sees the hard edge of Steve’s shoulders relax, so it’s worth it. 

He feels Nebula shoulder him on his left, Rhodey holding his arm on his right, his grasp firm, and suddenly he can breathe again. 

“It’s good to see you, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony can hear it in his voice, see it on his face that Steve lost in this fight, too. Badly. 

Somehow, he knows deep in his gut that he doesn’t have to worry about a confrontation with Barnes anytime soon. 

“You too, Cap.” 

 

. . . 

 

He’s in the medical bay for almost a week.

Happy and Nebula appoint themselves as his guards for the duration, both of them staying dutifully by the door to his room or parked in a chair in the corner. It’s comforting. 

The only ones they allow in are Bruce, Dr. Cho, Rhodey, and Pepper. He doubts the others are much up for visiting him, anyway.

Rhodey is a constant fixture in the sterile room, either talking his ear off about the rest of the team, or asleep in a chair by his monitors, or half-folded on the bed next to his legs. It can’t be good for his delicate spine, but Rhodey glares at him any time he makes a sound of protest. He’s forced into many games of chess, and gets quizzed on random adventures from MIT, but that’s fine with him. He’ll do anything Rhodey wants, as long as he stays nearby. 

Pepper is rarely more than a few feet away from. She keeps the topics light, distracting, and he’s incredibly grateful for it. He’ll listen to her drone on and on about the company all she wants. It means she’s here, real and solid, and it’s more than he could’ve ever asked for. She keeps him on his toes, promising that just because he’s bedridden and hospitalized doesn’t mean he can slack off on her. He wouldn’t dream of it. 

They both curl up in the small bed with him, sometimes, when it gets too hard for any of them to be apart, when they need to remind each other that they’re made of solid flesh and bone and blood, not dust and brittle ash. They hold him as tight as they dare, as tight as his stitches and IV tubes will allow, and all he can do is hold them right back, as weak as he is.

Bruce and Cho worked tirelessly to bring him back from the brink of death the first few days after his arrival, and even now he was just barely out of the woods. Weeks of starvation and dehydration, paired with a gaping wound in his gut, hadn’t been without consequence. 

It turns out that his liver was close to failing, and that the nanotech holding his stomach together was the only reason he hadn’t died from Sepsis. One or two more days, and he would’ve been a goner. He’s lost a considerable amount of muscle and precious fat; it forces him to he hooked up to intravenous nutrition for a few days, which is humiliating, but he’s able to stand up without leaning on Nebula or Happy after, so it’s worth it in a way. Half of his belly needed to be rearranged, thanks to his stab wound, but now it’s all stitched up nice and tight and healing. The stitches ache in a way that’s painfully familiar of the removal of the arc reactor, even if the new one is firm and heavy and whole in his chest. 

Bruce is very adamant about the fact that he has to take it easy for a while. 

That’s fine. Even if he _could_ walk and run around, he didn’t want to. The pain stabbing him in the chest and keeping him down had nothing to do with the arc reactor, this time.

 

. . .

 

Happy insists on pushing him around in a wheelchair for the first week free from medical, and it says a lot that he only protests once. It’s so good to have Happy, safe and protective as always. 

Nebula has become his shadow, determined in her self-appointed task of being his new bodyguard. She bonds quick and strong to Pepper, and he knows the two of them will force him into working order in no time. When she’s not hovering around him or Pepper, however, she’s tucked into a corner, quietly conversing with the raccoon he’s just decided to accept as a thing that’s happening. Sometimes, he sees them just sitting together, leaning on each other for comfort. 

He can’t blame them one bit. 

Having Bruce back is a breath of fresh air. Even when he isn’t up for talking, up for anything but sitting in his damn wheelchair, Bruce is there, quietly fiddling with a screen, looking over the names, reviewing anything he could get his hands on for an idea on how to fix this. Bruce was always smarter than him, anyway. 

Having Rhodey there helps more than he’ll ever be able to say. He and Pepper are the only people keeping him sane, he thinks. Keeping him from rolling his chair off the nearest cliff. Rhodey keeps his head up, keeps him on his toes, even if it’s just to nag him about the most mundane things he can think of. Just hearing his Honeybear’s voice is enough. 

He can’t bring himself to be angry with Thor. He thinks that Thor is angry enough at himself for all of them, anyway. 

Natasha is often gone, trying to hunt down Barton and Lang, but she’s always calm and collected when she’s around. 

The new woman, Carol, scares him to death. He loves it. Rhodey and Thor also seem to have taken a liking with her, Rhodey especially. It’s good to have a fresh face. 

It hasn’t escaped his notice that he hasn’t been left alone with Steve yet, someone always hovering nearby when they’re in the same room, but he’s fine with that. He’s not quite ready to deal with that particular can of worms, and it seems that Steve isn’t, either. It’s not exactly the most important thing in the world right now, anyway. 

 

. . . 

 

He steps foot in his lab two weeks after being released from medical, sees two of Peter’s webshooters sitting on a table next to one of his hoodies and pieces of a book report, and steps right back out again. 

He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s vomiting up his lunch. 

 

. . .

 

May slaps him across the face when she comes up to the compound. 

He doesn’t blame her. 

 

. . .

 

“Was he with you, at least?” May asks once she’s calmed down some, tears choking up her words.

“Yes,” he manages to say, staring down at where she has a vice grip on his hands. He welcomes whatever bruises she’ll leave him with. “He…” He has to clear his throat, blink away a stinging wetness at his eyes. Peter wasn’t his to cry over. “He was in my arms, when…”

May inhales, sharp, and then she’s searching his face, chewing on her lip. 

“Was it quick? Like everyone else?”

‘ _I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please, I don’t–I don’t wanna go–_ ’ 

“Yes,” he lies, right through his teeth, but it’s worth it when she sobs and collapses onto his chest in relief. “He didn’t feel a thing.”

Sometimes, when the truth will do nothing but hurt, it’s better to tell a lie.

‘ _I’m sorry_ …’

 

. . . 

 

“You bring him back, you hear me?” May says, fierce and angry and strong even when her cheeks are wet, and Tony definitely sees where Peter gets his determination from. “You bring him back to me.”

“I will,” he promises, even though he doesn’t know where to begin doing that. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bring him back.”

May stares at him, then nods, looking him over, scrutinizing.

“He loves you, you know,” she says eventually, staring at his collarbone instead of meeting his eyes. Something about the way she says it in present tense brings him a sliver of peace, even if her words punch a hole in his lungs. “He’s looked up to you for so long… Even before you were Iron Man. Always wanted to be just like you. A terrible idea, if you ask me,”

She snorts, like it’s something she’s said a million times before. Like it’s an inside joke. 

“After you became Iron Man, that idea was even harder to get out of his head. He wore an Iron Man mask everywhere he went, and I mean _everywhere_.” She says it with an amused roll of her eyes, a slight smile to her lips. “When Ben won those tickets to your expo in 2010,” Tony’s heart leapt into his chest. The kid was there that night? “Peter barely sleep in excitement for days. Just the idea of being able to see you was enough to make his whole world. And he actually did get to see you. Twice! He didn’t shut up about how he helped you take down an evil robot and how you said he did ‘ _nice work, kid_ ’ for _months_.”

He finds himself doing a nice impression of a fish for a few moments. “That–That was _Peter_?” 

May laughs at him, though it’s wet. “It was. He’d still be over the moon just knowing you remembered it.” 

“Good to know he’s been giving me heart attacks since 2010…”

“It’s something he’s very talented at.” May smiles at him, like they’re sharing a joke, and then her expression turns serious again. “You love him, right?”

He wants to protest, wants to brush it off and say there’s no reason to love Peter, he’s just a particularly talented kid he decided to help out, because he has no _claim_ , no _right_ to love and grieve over a child that isn’t his, but…

“I do,” he whispers, finally meeting May’s eyes. “I do, he–” And he’s forcing back a sob, not letting himself cry over this kid, _his_ kid, because it’s not right, it’s his fault he’s _gone_ and–

May pulls him in, holding him in a way that reminds him, desperately, of his mother. 

“You bring back our kid, Stark,” she orders, sounding like she’s about to cry again herself. “You bring back our Peter, okay? You bring him _home_ , and you tell him that you love him, you tell _our kid_ how important he is to you, you got me?” 

“I will,” he promises, much more sure of himself than he was the first time he said it. “I’ll bring him home.”

 

. . .

 

He sends Happy to watch over May, to make sure she’s safe and not alone in this cold, empty new world. He knows that Happy will protect her, no matter what, until Peter gets home.

 

. . .

 

That night, long after most of the compound has gone to sleep, Tony tucks himself into bed next to Pepper, and grieves for his son.

 

. . .

 

He finds himself alone with Steve sooner than he’d like. 

Steve is sitting on one of the steps outside the compound, hunched over a tablet, and there’s no one else in sight when he steps out next to him. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel all that nervous alone with Steve, but then again he hasn’t felt much of anything at all, lately. He pauses, rubbing at the arc reactor and the more recent crescent shaped scar going across his chest. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not really. Steve doesn’t scare him anymore either, not really. 

What scares him is the fact that there are tears running down Steve’s face. 

Carefully, he slots himself next to Steve on the step, making sure to make noise as he moves so he doesn’t startle him. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, so neither does he. 

Curiosity gets the better of him eventually, so he looks over to see what Steve’s been staring at all this time. It wasn’t like he made an effort to hide it, anyway. 

It’s a picture of Steve, Barnes and Wilson. 

They’re all smiling at the camera, arms around each other in a warm embrace, though Barnes looks a bit exhausted. It’s set in Wakanda, if the background is anything to go by. Wilson and Steve are dressed nicely, while Barnes is in sweats and a t-shirt that had definitely seen better days, but they all look happy. 

“It was Bucky’s first day out of cryo,” Steve explains softly, fingers ghosting over the small figures on the screen. “He was so tired, but he wanted to make sure there was a picture of it. Sam didn’t stop making popsicle jokes the whole day.” The laugh that breaks out of Steve is strained. Steve sniffs, and wipes his face with his sleeve. “It was one of the best days I’ve had since I woke up.”

Tony presses his thigh a bit closer to Steve, a silent offer of comfort. Steve presses his back, gentle and tentative. 

“I think you and Bucky would’ve been good friends, you know,” Steve says after a breath of silence, and all Tony can do is stare at Barnes on the screen. “You’re both way too smart for your own good, same sense of humor, and he would’ve _loved_ to see something like your lab; always had his nose stuck in some sci-fi novel…” Tony manages a snort at that. He remembers a few stories from Aunt Peggy about how if they had a minute to spare, Barnes could usually be found reading a novel or tinkering with some scraps. Steve chews on his lip. “If I could… If I could take back everything I did, I would. I’d do it in a heartbeat. Maybe not about the Accords, but… You didn’t deserve that… I should’ve done better, for both of you. You especially…” Steve takes a deep breath. 

Tony does too. 

“Wasn’t exactly your finest decision, Cap,” he says dryly, and it pries a reluctant chuckle out of Steve. 

“No, not at all.” Steve looks up, red-rimmed eyes staring into Tony like he’s trying to see through his soul. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so sorry. I know that it’s not nearly enough to make up for everything that I did, but… I’m sorry. I want you to know that.” 

Tony blinks in surprise. 

He wants to get angry, wants to push every bit of anguish and pain and _grief_ Steve caused him back in his face, but he can’t. He doesn’t have the energy for that. 

He doesn’t have the energy for much at all. 

“I had already grieved my parents, Steve,” Steve has the decency to flinch at the venom in his voice. “I grieved them a long time ago, in a completely different way, for a completely different reason. I had to grieve them again. I had to grieve them with the knowledge that it wasn’t my father’s fault, that it was a _murder_ , while the person who did it was standing ten feet away from me.” 

They both take a deep breath. He’s very grateful that Steve is keeping his mouth shut. 

“Now… Now I can say that I know it wasn’t… _Barnes_ who did it. It was his hands but he didn’t make the decision. I know that. I’m not proud of my reaction in Siberia, I’m not. But that was a position I _never_ should have been in, Steve.” 

“I know.” 

“Good.” His voice is firmer than he thought he could make it, now. “If you had just… _trusted_ me, maybe–” Tony takes a deep, harsh breath through his nose. Steve looks at his shoes, making himself look small, like a scolded child. “Maybe things would have been different. I wish things had been different.”

“So do I.” 

He sounds so broken, and Tony wants to yell, wants to shout and scream himself hoarse about how _Steve_ doesn’t get to feel that way, when it was _Tony_ who was left alone to _die_ in a bunker in the middle of Siberia, wants to scream about the fact that Barnes haunted his nightmares for _months_ , strangling him the same way he strangled his mother, wants to make Steve feel the same paralyzing fear he felt when that damn shield came crashing down–

He doesn’t say anything of those things. Maybe he should; get it off his chest as Pepper and Rhodey are always telling him to, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at the picture cradled in Steve’s lap and sighs, weary and tired to the bone. 

“I really want to hate you, Rogers. I really do.” Steve stills next to him. He just feels tired. “You had the unmitigated _gall_ to lecture me about keeping secrets while you were lying right to my _face_ and I really, _really_ want to hate you for it. God, I wish I could hate you for it.” 

Tony pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, looks to the sky for guidance and shakes his head, just a bit, and inhales his lungs to the point of pain. It helps, a bit. 

“But I don’t,” he confesses on an exhale, “I don’t know why, but I don’t– _can’t_ hate you. And believe me, Cap, I tried.” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. They’re trembling, just a bit. Steve takes in a fast breath next to him. 

The silence that envelops them is only broken by the rustle of wind through the trees, sparse as they may be now. 

“I’m not ready to forgive you,” he says eventually, and he sees Steve nod out of the corner of his eye. “I will, eventually. Probably. But not now.” Tony squeezes his eyes shut. 

One breath, two, and Tony forces himself to turn to Steve, to take in the red of his eyes and the tears staining his face. It’s a painful thing to look at. 

It’s not about them anymore, is it?

“We’ll get them back, Steve,” he whispers, a promise he intends to keep, somehow. “ _All_ of them. Whatever it takes.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes searching his face for something, seems to find it, and nods. 

“Whatever it takes.” 

 

. . .

 

Natasha finally drags Barton in from the cold, sporting a new haircut and lots of tattoos. 

“I lost the kids, lost Laura,” Barton says, voice dead and hollow. Tony knows the feeling all too well. 

“We’ll get them back,” Steve promises, and Barton nods after a moment. 

“We have to.”

 

. . .

 

A month and a half after he lands back on Earth, Harley Keener of all people shows up on the compound’s doorstep.

He brought that cherry red Mustang with him, the one Tony has not so secretly been sending parts for all these years. He looks taller, _older_ ; lost a lot of that baby fat from his face but still has a boyish, teenage quality to him. Tony can hardly breathe at the sight of him on the security feed.

Pepper forces Tony to go down and let him in.

“I thought about breaking into the garage, you know, for old times’ sake?” Harley says in lieu of a hello, shrugging his shoulders as if he’s just been gone for the weekend. “But then I thought that breaking into a place full of Avengers was probably a bad idea–”

Tony yanks Harley into his arms mid-sentence, jolting in realization that Harley is _taller_ than him now as he holds the back of his head. Blessedly, Harley hugs him back, tight and firm, without protest. 

“It’s good to see you, kid.”

“You too, old man.” 

 

. . . 

 

“My sister didn’t make it…” Harley says, quiet and subdued. He’s leaning over the counter in the kitchen, staring at the marble as if it will give him the answers he’s looking for. “Mom did, but… she’s not handling it very well.”

Tony rubs Harley’s back, knowing that words won’t do much in the way of comfort. 

“When I saw that you were alive, I just… I knew I had to come here.”

Tony nods. He may not understand why, but he’s glad to have Harley in his company again anyway. 

“Because we’re connected?” He tries, and even though the joke is weak and flat, it pulls a fast laugh out of the kid. 

“Yeah, because we’re connected, old man,” Harley teases, his heart not quite in it. 

Tony pulls him to his side anyway. Harley holds on tight. 

 

. . .

 

Harley and Rhodey help him clean up the lab, eventually. 

Neither of them ask why he’s so adamant that no one but him touches the stuff on a certain table, about why he treats it like fine china as he puts it away. They know.

 

. . .

 

When they’ve both cleared out, and he hears the tell-tale sound of Nebula’s boots coming to down the hall on her nightly patrol, Tony wakes up his mechanical children, and sits on the floor. They roll over to him in a second, beeping at frantic speeds, and he just _apologizes_ , for leaving them for so long, for not being there when he should have been. 

They can’t hug him, not properly, but they wrap around him best they can. DUM-E pokes his shoulder gently a few times, and U makes a whining sound that just makes him choke on a sob. God, he missed them.

Around them, FRIDAY plays a soft melody. He lets his babygirl sing him to sleep, curled up on the floor next to Peter’s bench and swaddled in a blanket DUM-E not-so-gracefully deposits in his lap. 

It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in a long time.

 

. . .

 

The next time he finds Steve alone, it’s easier to settle down next to him on the couch. 

There are no tears this time, which is a relief. 

There’s another picture cradled in Steve’s lap, this time it’s of Wilson jumping onto Steve’s back in the compound’s training room. They’re both smiling, laughing, light and carefree. 

“Tasha took this one,” Steve explains softly after a few minutes of silence. “Sam was pissed I lapped him around the gym again, so he jumped on my back and demanded I carry him around. I walked around for a minute before dumping him in the ring with Tasha.” A pained smile comes onto Steve’s lips. 

Carefully, he reaches out and rubs Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s breath shudders, and there are those tears that were missing. 

He wonders if Steve has ever let himself properly grieve, for any of them. Somehow, he thinks the answer is no. 

“Sam was out,” Steve chokes, hands clenched tight around the picture. The glass creaks. “He was _out, done_ , and I brought him back into this–this _life_. It’s not fair, he shouldn’t have… It’s my fault he–”

“ _Stop_ ,” Tony orders, not being able to listen to that train of thought any longer; he hears it enough in his own damn head. Steve’s eyes snap up to him, but he thankfully stops talking. “It is not your fault, Steve. Not even close.”

Steve shakes his head, “if I had fought harder–”

“Would you shut up and listen to me for once in your goddamn life?” His voice is more bitter than he intends it to be, but it works, and Steve’s jaw clicks shut. “ _Thanos_ is the _only one_ responsible for what happened. Not you. Not you, not Thor, not… not me. Not _any_ of us.” 

Steve looks to the carpet at his feet, and Tony takes the opportunity to just breathe. 

These words are hard to say, no matter how many times Pepper and Rhodey have said them. Believing them is easier said than done, he knows. 

God, does he know. 

“I didn’t know Wilson that well,” he starts, and Steve tilts his head abit to acknowledge he’s listening, “but I know he adored you. I know he was happy to fight at your side. I know that he was doing what he thought was _right_. The snap was random, Steve. He would’ve been… _taken_ , at your side or not, and if what I know about him is right, then… There’s no place he’d rather have been.” 

Steve looks up at him, finally, blue eyes wide and full of tears. His bottom lip trembles, just a bit, and then his face _crumbles_. Burying his face in his hands, Steve lets out a terrible sob, filled with pain and heartache and raw _grief_ , grief he’s probably been holding in for over seventy years. 

Tony, for some dumb reason, doesn’t call for Natasha, or Bruce, or literally anyone else who would’ve been better suited to comforting a crying Captain America. Instead, he shuffles closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s bulk and holding him as close as he can stand. 

By some miracle, Steve lets him. Clings to him, even. Holds him with almost bruising strength and crumbles to pieces right there in his arms, apologizing over and over. 

He won’t lie and say that it’s easy, that his heart isn’t racing and his hands aren’t shaking around Steve’s shoulders. But, he’ll deal with it. This isn’t about him. 

He never thought he’d see the day when the perfect Captain America fell apart, but it’s a bit comforting to know that he can. 

 

. . .

 

Neither of them mention it in the following days, either too embarrassed or not wanting to call attention to it. Tony doesn’t mind. 

It does feel good to feel comfortable with Steve in the same room again, though. 

 

. . .

 

Harley never leaves him alone for long. 

His presence is welcome, most of the time. It’s nice to have someone curious and bright pester him with questions again. 

It’s not the same, of course. 

Where Peter was bright and bubbly, Harley was dry and sarcastic. Where Harley is a quiet, steady presence, Peter would flit around and talk, practically (and sometimes, literally) crawling up the walls in his excitement. Harley preferred to tinker, alter things that were already functioning, while Peter loved to create from scratch now that he could. 

They’re both sponges, however, happy to absorb whatever knowledge they can. It makes him warm in his chest, to have that energy back in his lab. 

Even if it’s not the same. 

He hopes, that when it’s all said and done, and they have them back, Harley and Peter become friends. 

They’d cause him so much hell. He can’t wait. 

 

. . .

 

He spends a lot of time just talking to FRIDAY. 

She’s not JARVIS, and _fuck_ does he miss JARVIS, like a limb, like a part of his soul, but she’s still his beloved babygirl. She runs lines of code with him until any human would’ve long gone hoarse, she shows him the video feeds from the compound, the news from when he was gone. 

When he asks, she shows him recordings from Peter’s AI, Karen. He can only stomach watching the kid for thirty-seven seconds before he makes her shut it off. She does, without a word. A few minutes later, she alerts him to Pepper making her way down to the lab. 

He’s sure the two are unrelated, of course. 

He says ‘ _thank you_ ’ on a breath he knows her microphones will pick up anyway.

The lights around him swell, just for a moment.

. . .

 

Scott Lang has joined the fray, now. He’s more subdued than Tony remembers him being in Berlin, but they all are now, really. That quietness is nothing new to any of them. 

What is interesting is the way Scott looks at him, just stares, for almost a full minute after he arrives, and nods. 

“Mine too,” Scott says, soft and raspy, and while some of the others look confused, it’s Barton and that damn raccoon that have a look of understanding come across their face. 

Tony ignores the way Barton’s head whips to him in confusion, and instead nods to Scott. 

“We’ll get them back,” he promises, no matter how loud that doubtful voice in the back of his head is. 

“Whatever it takes,” Steve agrees, and Scott turns to him, looking determined. 

Good. 

He’s going to need that. They all will. 

 

. . .

 

Barton corners him in the kitchen as he makes coffee, face grim. He folds his arms and leans against the fridge, ignoring Tony’s quiet comment about smudges on the stainless steel. 

“Who were they?” Barton asks instead, eyes scrutinizing in a way that makes him remember that Barton was, in fact, a very talented spy. 

“He was… _is_ ,” Tony says firmly, refusing to refer to Peter in the past-tense. If May won’t, he’s not going to either. “My intern, in a way… Smartest kid I’ve ever met.”

Barton’s posture softens, just a little. Tony refuses to acknowledge the stinging in his eyes, and scratches at his nose. 

The light on the coffee pot blinks at him. 

“I wasn’t supposed to get close to him, y’know? Just… Help him from the sidelines, make sure he didn’t get hurt, sort of thing.” He won’t tell Barton just who Peter is, that’s not his secret to tell. He trusts that Barton will either leave it alone or find out by himself. “But he grows on you, like a damn fungus. Has almost every person he meets wrapped around his finger in just a few sentences.” 

The coffee pot beeps. Tony starts to prepare two cups. 

“He has a heart of gold, that kid. He just wants to help. He wanted to help, when–” Tony can’t breathe right, so he focuses on stirring the sugar and cream together. 

“He was with you,” Barton figures out, voice soft and sorrowful. Birdbrain may play dumb, but he’s not. Not when it counts. “In the city.”

“On Titan, too,” he whispers, and he hears Barton take in a sharp breath. Suddenly he can’t stand without putting a deathgrip on the countertop. “I _tried_ to send him home, but–”

“He wanted to help,” Barton finishes. Tony nods.

He chokes out a wet, rueful laugh. Barton steps forward, and picks up the second cup of coffee. 

“And he did, you know? That’s the worst part, he actually did help. He’s green, but he’s _strong_ , has good instincts… We made progress in that fight because of him.”

Tony tries to banish the image of Thanos pinning Peter to the ground, spitting the word ‘ _insect_ ’ with such venom from his head, but it doesn’t quite work. 

“He knew what was happening to him.” He can’t make his voice higher than a whisper. He thinks Barton understands. “He… He could _feel_ , what was coming. He tried to fight it, too.” His hands are shaking now. “He tried _so hard_ to fight it, but he couldn’t. He just… Stumbled to me, even while his legs were–” _Turning to ash_. 

‘ _I don’t feel so good_ –’

He has to squeeze his eyes shut, tight, so colors and shapes dance across the black and his face hurts. He swallows thickly and refuses to let more tears fall. He’s shed enough. 

“I caught him, tried to tell him it was going to be alright–” A hand comes onto his shoulder and grips him tight when his voice breaks. “But he was–” _Falling apart_. “He begged me to stay. _Begged_. There was nothing I could do, so I just– _held him_ and he fucking _apologized_ to me and then he–he turned to ash in my–”

The sob comes unbidden from his chest, and he feels Barton wrap his arm more firmly around him. He keeps up a steady rhythm, rubbing his hand up and down Tony’s arm to ground him. 

Barton clears his throat a few minutes later.

“I was outside, when it happened. I was just, getting some firewood, and suddenly the squirrel running across the lawn turned to ash. I thought maybe I had finally gone crazy, y’know? But…” Barton grips his arm tight, for a moment. His voice sounds wet. “But then I heard one of the kids scream… I ran back inside, and Laura was almost–”

Tony reaches up and squeezes the hand on his arm. It squeezes back. 

“I saw the piles of ash on the floor and I just _knew_. I _knew_ they were gone. I ran to check on Nate, but…”

“There was nothing left.”

“Just…”

“ _Ashes_.”

Tony knows. Tony knows all too well. 

 

. . .

 

They’ve barely made any progress. 

Bruce was able to figure out a way to know when the stones are being used a long time ago, but the energy signatures never stick around long enough for FRIDAY to properly track them. 

It’s beyond frustrating. 

He wishes he had Strange. Wishes Wong was more help. Wishes Carol was more help. Wishes that the brilliant princess of Wakanda wasn’t among the missing. 

They’re flying blind and deaf and senseless and he has no idea how to fix it. 

 

. . . 

 

“Why don’t you just build something?” Harley says when they’re alone in the lab after Tony voices his frustrations, shrugging his shoulders with an ease like he’s asking what they’re making for dinner. 

“It’s not that simple, kid,” he sighs, deeply wishing that it was. 

“Of course it is,” Harley laughs like it’s obvious. “Build something crazy; you’re Tony freaking _Stark_ , who else is gonna do it?” 

And, well, when you put it that way… 

 

. . .

 

Tony stares at the formula for Extremis for a long time. 

It’s been modified, of course; edited and re-edited it over the years until it’s gotten as close to perfect as he can get. 

He’s contemplated using it before, when he lost JARVIS to Ultron, when that crescent shaped scar on his chest was still new and freshly scabbed over. 

He didn’t ever want to feel that helpless again. 

Of course, he didn’t go through with it. He didn’t want to know how Pepper and Rhodey would react to it. 

But things are different now. 

It’s not about feeling hopeless anymore. It’s not about not wanting to take drastic measures for a situation he may never be in again, or wanting to feel safe. It’s not about him and how he feels at all. 

It’s about everyone else; everyone who isn’t here, everyone who lost someone they love, everyone who wants to make sure Thanos goes _down_. 

He can’t play any selfish cards, can’t worry about his own wants and fears. Not when half of the fucking universe is _gone_. 

It hasn’t been about him in a long, long time. 

“Okay, when I said crazy, this isn’t really what I meant,” Harley says from behind him, sounding a bit apprehensive. 

Tony whirls around, eyes wide and his right hand clutching his chest while he heaves air into his lungs. 

“Jesus, kid, how long have you been there?”

“Nebula and FRIDAY let me in.” Harley shrugs, flipping one of the files he had strewn across the table over in his hand. Tony makes a mental note to remind them both what ‘I want to be alone’ means. “You know this stuff is dangerous right? You didn’t forget that story I told you about back in Tennessee did you?” 

Tony sighs and snatches the file back from Harley, kicking one of the rolling stools over to him. 

“I fixed it.”

“You fixed it?” Harley sounds skeptical as he plops down on the chair. He supposes that’s fair; it wasn’t exactly a stable thing the last time he saw it. 

“Yup, no more exploding heads.” 

Harley rolls his eyes and picks up another file, casually flipping through it. “Still probably not a good idea, though.” 

“Probably not,” he agrees, reaching over to ruffle the kid’s hair. “But I’m wondering if I have much of a choice.”

“Maybe you should look harder; build something new,” Harley says, with an easy casualness, like he has total faith in Tony despite the situation. It’s at moments like these that he remembers just how fond he is of this damn snarky kid. 

“We’ll see.”

 

. . .

 

“You know, Pep will kill you if she sees you looking at this.”

Tony jumps, for the _second_ time this day, he might add, and whirls around to see Rhodey standing behind him, frowning with his arms crossed. His posture eerily reminds him of when he was trying to hide the Palladium poisoning. Maybe for a good reason. 

“Lemme guess, FRIDAY and Nebula let you in?” Rhodey rolls his eyes, walking over and settling himself down on a stool, leg braces quietly whirring at the movement. 

“Harley came and asked me to talk to you,” Rhodey explains, scooting closer so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Nebula didn’t really _say_ anything, but her pointed glare at the door was clue enough. FRIDAY just opened the door for me. Thank you FRI, by the way.”

“Of course, Colonel. It’s always a pleasure.” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice says around them, as smug as an AI can sound. 

“Yes, thank you, FRI. I appreciate you letting Rhodey in without my permission, _so_ much,” Tony snarks, but there’s no heat behind it all. “I’m telling you: community college is in your future.”

“I’m absolutely terrified, Boss,” FRIDAY replies dryly. 

Rhodey shakes his head fondly, and nudges Tony in the side, gently. The scar on his belly is pink and puffy now, stitches long gone, but still tender and sore. Rhodey knows that. 

“Seriously, Tones. I’m worried about you. This is crazy–”

“This whole situation is crazy!” He shouts, shooting up to his feet to pace. He wrings his hands in his hair, pulling harshly at the strands before letting go and gesturing around him. “Everything about this, is crazy! I was on a different _planet_ , fighting a genocidal purple giant a few months ago, there’s a talking _raccoon_ upstairs, my new bodyguard is _blue_ , and _half of the fucking universe is dust_!” 

Rhodey watches patiently from his seat as Tony paces across the lab, venting. 

His eyes are stinging again, but he swallows it down. He’s had enough of crying over this bullshit. 

“That doesn’t mean _you_ have to be crazy, Tones,” Rhodey tries gently, but Tony is shaking his head. 

“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it mean I have to be just as crazy, take just as drastic measures, to _fix this_?!”

“No, Tony!” Rhodey shouts, getting to his feet as fast as his braces will allow. Tony scoffs. “It doesn’t! You can’t fight crazy with crazy and expect a good result! That’s not how it works!”

“Then how _does_ it work, Rhodey? Please, tell me, how in the _fuck_ am I supposed to fix this, because I don’t have any other ideas!” 

“Have you tried asking for help?” Rhodey questions, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Have you tried asking _any_ one of the rather smart people we have upstairs for help?”

“None of them have any–”

“That’s why collaborations exist, Tones. Two minds are better than one and you and Bruce are two of the greatest–”

“Oh, right, because the last time Bruce and I worked together it turned out _great_ –”

“That wasn’t either of your faults! It was the mind stone, no one could have predicted–”

“That’s my _point_!” Tony shouts, desperate to get Rhodey to understand. His eyes are wet as he looks around his lab, slapping his hands on his thighs and raising them up to gesture to the grandness of it all. “That is _exactly_ , my point.” He points at Rhodey and turns, walking back over to another table covered in Extremis papers. 

“We _can’t_ predict the stones. We _can’t_ predict what Thanos is going to do next, or how he’ll react to anything _we_ do. I have to try everything, Platypus. _Everything_.” 

“So _figure him out_ ,” Rhodey says harshly, walking over to where he’s planted himself over the table. “You cannot honestly stand there and tell me that you think Thanos is smarter than _you_.” Rhodey puts a hand on his shoulder, grip firm and warm, just like he always is with him. It’s comforting beyond words.

“Tony Stark I have known you almost your entire damn life. I don’t know Thanos, but I do know _you_. I know you can figure out what to do, so stop messing around with this _bullshit_ and _do it_.” 

Tony chews on his lip and scans over the papers again, looking at every number and measurement and adjustment over and over. 

“What if this _is_ the answer? What if this is the answer, and I don’t use it?” His voice sounds worn and tired, now. 

“And what if you _do_?” Rhodey asks back, just as quiet. “Tony this can _kill_ you. I know your own safety isn’t exactly a priority,” Rhodey teases, sounding exasperated, “but what good are you gonna do for us, for _them_ if you’re dead?”

“But what if it _works_? Whatever it takes, that’s what we agreed on.”

“And what if it _doesn’t_?” Rhodey says, a tinge of desperation threading through. “What if it doesn’t, Tones? It doesn’t _have_ to take this.” Tony shakes his head, scoffing. 

Rhodey sighs. 

“Would Peter want you to do this?” 

Tony reels back, stumbling a few steps away and pointing a shaky finger at Rhodey. 

“Don’t you _dare_ bring him–”

“Why not?” Rhodey shrugs. “He’s why you’re doing this right?”

“He’s not the only one that–we lost _trillions_ of lives, Rhodey.”

“Yes, but his is the one you care about most, right?” Rhodey, sweet and caring and _brilliant_ Rhodey, could always see right through him. 

Tony crumples, down along the side of the table and onto the floor. Dropping his head into his hands, the heel of his palms shoved hard into his eyes, Tony rests his elbows on top of his knees and tries not to cry. He hears the soft whirring of the leg braces, and then Rhodey is pressing right up against his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, holding him tight. It reminds him of when he was in MIT, small and scared and fresh off a cruel phone call with Howard. Rhodey was there for him then, just like he is now, no matter how stupid he acts. 

“It’s okay to grieve for him, Tones.”

“I think I’ve cried enough these last few months, thank you,” he says with a bitter, wet laugh, wiping his face harshly. 

“Yeah, well, last time I checked there were five stages of grief,” Rhodey says with a sigh, rubbing his hand up and down Tony’s arm in a comforting gesture. “Look… If, and _only_ if, you and the others can’t figure this out, I’ll back your play. You know I will. I’m not gonna like it, but if it comes down to _this_ , I’ve got you. But I’m not gonna let you destroy yourself when there are other options.” 

Tony tucks himself into the crook of his Platypus’ neck, and breathes. 

“One of the stages of grief is anger,” Rhodey explains, rubbing his thumb in soft circles on his bicep. “Get angry, Tony. Get the others angry. We _need_ to be angry. We need to be fucking _pissed_ , if we wanna fix this. So _get. Angry_. We can do this, Tones. We have to.”

Rhodey pulls him in closer, and places a fast kiss to the top of his head. 

“You can figure this out; just have to use that big brain of yours.”

Tony sighs. 

“Okay.” 

 

. . .

 

Tony builds. 

He builds new suits for him and Rhodey, dozens of them, each more advanced and deadly than the last. Pepper shoots him looks remnant of the last time he did this, but doesn’t push. She knows this time is different. 

This time it’s not him coping with trauma. Well, not entirely. 

It feels cathartic either way. 

He builds weapons too. Better than anything the Stark Industries of old could have dreamed of. 

He has Natasha and Clint test them relentlessly. They revel in having a task, and give him clear and concise criticisms every time they come back to his lab. Sometimes they stay and watch him make those suggested improvements, sometimes they deposit them in front of him, give their ideas, and leave. He doesn’t mind.

Scott gets him pieces of Pym’s research, which is helpful. There’s no time for petty family rivalries now. Whatever they can get their hands on, they have to use. 

He and Bruce work tirelessly on ways to track the Stones more accurately, and Carol gives them every bit of alien tech she thinks can help. Thor tells them everything he can think of that might be of use, but it isn't much. Turns out that Loki would've been the better person to ask. They don't mention him much, with the way Thor closes off at his name. Rocket and Nebula peel the Guardian’s ship apart for ideas, and Tony helps them put it back together, better this time. With a lot more oxygen reserves. 

They’re getting closer. He knows it. 

All he needs now is a strategy.

 

. . .

 

Nebula glares at Steve as soon as she sets foot in the lab. Steve has the decency to look a bit sheepish under her black gaze. Tony, personally, finds it very amusing. 

“What can I do for you?” She asks, hands behind her back in parade rest. Nebula only looks at Tony as she speaks, causing a warm feeling in his chest. 

“We need you to tell us everything about Thanos,” Steve starts, leaning forward as he speaks, “everything you can think of.”

“Everything bad, everything good. His routine, what he likes, what he doesn’t like, _everything_ ,” Tony finishes, looking right into her eyes, “we need to know all of it.”

Nebula flicks her eyes to Steve for a brief moment, then back to him where she holds his gaze seriously. “I’ll talk to you, not him.”

Tony shakes his head, although he appreciates the sentiment. “Cap’s the best strategist we have. Whatever you tell me, I’d have to tell him, because I can’t think of the same things he can. We need his help. You can go right back to glaring at him after if you want, but we _need_ to work together if we’re going to bring Thanos _down_.”

“I just want to help, Nebula,” Steve says, pouring that all-american sincerity on thick. It’s hard not to laugh at it, and if Nebula’s eyeroll is any indication, she agrees. “We need an in, a way to predict what he’s going to do next and where. No one here knows him better than you do. Let me help; I want to bring him down just as much as you do.”

“Well, I doubt that,” Nebula says wryly, eyebrow raised. She sighs, and sits gracefully down on a chair, crossing her legs and leaning on the nearby counter with her cybernetic arm. “Fine. Where do you want to start?” 

 

. . .

 

Long after he’s left alone in the lab, pouring over everything Nebula told them, with FRIDAY running several projections of notes at once all around him, FRIDAY alerts him to a guest at the door. 

He swipes his notes away and lets them in, surprised to look up and find Nebula standing a few feet away from him. Once again she’s in parade rest, but this time there’s a nervous, timid air around her. He frowns; for all the months he’s known her now, he hasn’t seen either of those emotions from her, and it’s worrying.

“Nebula,” he greets, warm despite his confusion. “You alright? Remember something else? Because he’s probably sleeping, but I can call Capsicle down here in a seco–”

“I want you to make me a weapon.” 

She says it fast, her voice hard, serious, but nervous, like the request scares her. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, raising an eyebrow at her but turning to call up a few blank weapon slates anyway. “What we talkin’ here? Gun, sword, crossbow? Taser? Cat O’Nine Tails?”

“Yes, all of it, but–” she agrees quickly, but shakes her head once, “that’s not what I meant.” 

Tony pauses, turns, and meets her eye. She raises her chin, steeling herself for something. 

“Okay. What did you mean?” 

“I want you to make _me_ , a weapon.”

Her words take a second to sink in, but once they do he’s on his feet, hands outstretched and eyebrows raised. “Nebula–”

“I know you can do it; I’ve seen what you’ve built for the others, for your suits.” She sounds almost frantic, but doesn’t move when he steps towards her, close enough to touch but far enough that she can flee if she wants to. 

“I will make you whatever weapon you want, but it doesn’t have to be attached to your body.”

“I don’t care about the pain,” she insists, filled with a determination that scares him. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will hurt more than what he’s done.” He shakes his head, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. A bit of the tension in them eases. “I want to take what he made me and have it _destroy_ him. Please, make me a weapon.” Her eyes are wet. 

Tony feels way over his head. Why is it that he’s always the one left with the emotional teammates as of late? Nonetheless, he gives her a gentle squeeze on the shoulders. It seems to help her breathe. 

Briefly, he wonders if this is how Rhodey feels when he gets a stupid idea in his head. He makes a note to send his Platypus a fruit basket. 

“Nebula,” he starts, and he can see on her face that she knows he’s going to refuse. “If you are in pain, I will fix it. If you need a weapon to cut his head off, I’ll make it, but I _refuse_ to do _anything_ to you that would make me anything like him. Okay?” He looks right into her eyes then, makes sure she knows how serious he is. “We _will_ bring him down, I promise you, but this isn’t something we have to do.”

She looks like she’s going to get angry with him. She’s been raging, rightfully, from the moment he met her, filled to the brim with anguish and anger and _pain_. And after what she’s been through, he can’t say he blames her. 

She stares at him for a few precious moments, then rips herself from his grasp and stomps out of the lab without a word. 

Tony sighs and tries not to think about how that interaction could have gone better. He just hopes she’ll calm down soon. 

He tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice how lonely he feels knowing she’s not right outside the door. 

 

. . .

 

Nebula comes back to the lab two days after her request, armed with armful of paper. She slams them down on his table and stares him down until he reaches for them and looks them over. 

A smirk curls over his lips. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

Tony traces his fingers over the designs she made: a pair of beautiful and deadly dual swords, sleek and striking in their nature, much like their future wielder.

He looks up at Nebula, finding her face carefully blank, and smiles at her. 

“Let’s get to work, FRI.”

“Right away, Boss,” FRIDAY replies, sounding quite pleased. 

Nebula smiles at him, just a little, and comes over to help him start. 

 

. . . 

 

They’re very close to finishing their plan, now. Everyone knows their parts, knows what they have to do in order to make things right. The moment of truth is so close he can almost taste it. 

But there’s still one thing he has to do.

 

. . .

 

“Tony? FRIDAY said you wanted to see me?” 

“Over here, Spangles!” 

He listens as Steve wanders over to the back of the lab, then comes to a stop and frowns a dozen or so feet away from where Tony has carefully situated himself in front of a workbench. 

“You know, I realized we’ve been talking battle strategies and weapons for a few weeks, but we seem to have forgotten something pretty important.”

“What is it?” Steve asks, immediately concerned. It’s hard to keep a straight face. 

In one swift step, Tony slides away to reveal what’s on the workbench behind him, never taking his eyes off Steve. 

Cap’s eyes widen, mouth falling open a little in his apparent shock. He looks frantically between Tony and the workbench, hands raised to reach out and grab, but his feet stay firmly planted where he is. 

“I fixed it up real nice; fresh coat of paint and polish, new mag-strips, GPS and emergency beacon, of course.” Tony smiles, running his fingers over the star.

“Tony–” Steve stutters, taking a step forward before freezing in his tracks, eyes boring into Tony. 

He rolls his eyes. “Are you going to stand there gawking at it all day, or are you going to come take your shield back?” 

Slowly, like he thinks it’s a trap, Steve comes over to the workbench. He picks up his shield with the care one would use with a newborn, running his fingers over the rings and edges. 

“You… You don’t have to give me this, Tony.” Steve gently sets the shield back down, reluctant though he may seem. He turns, giving Tony his full attention. Tony appreciates it. 

“Yes I do,” he replies, taking a step closer to Cap so he can really look at him. 

God, he wishes he were taller. 

“Tony–” 

“Shut up and take the olive branch for what it is, Capsicle.” 

Steve coughs on a laugh and shakes his head, relaxing so his hip is resting on the edge of the bench. He stares at his shield, a rueful smile on his lips. 

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, turning that kilowatt smile on him. 

“No need,” he dismisses, hands behind his back and rocking on his heels as he looks at a stack of papers next to the shield, then back to Steve. “I shouldn’t have taken it from you in the first place.” 

“Maybe,” Steve agrees, but he doesn’t sound mad or even upset. “It certainly gave me the wakeup call I needed, though.” 

“Well, if that’s all it took to get through your thick skull, I should’ve confiscated it a long time ago.”

Steve snorts. “That’s not _all_ it took, and you know it.” Looking down at the shield, then back at Tony, Steve smiles. “It’s good to have you back, Tony.”

Tony sighs, but smiles softly in return. “You too, Cap.”

Steve is staring at him now, like he wants to go over to where Tony is standing and pick him up and spin him around as of they’re in some dumb romantic comedy. 

Tony rolls his eyes and opens his arms. “Alright, stop looking at me like I kicked your puppy and get over here, you big lug.” 

Steve grins at him and steps over, immediately pulling him into an impossibly warm and tight hug. It’s a careful thing, like Steve wants to hold him tight and close and safe, but doesn’t feel like he should. 

Tony just squeezes Cap’s waist and enjoys it. 

 

. . .

 

“So, tomorrow?” Pepper asks, quiet in the dim lighting of their bedroom. 

They’re facing each other on the bed, Pepper leaning her head on one hand and running her fingers through his hair with the other. Tony, with his head resting on the pillow, is just taking the time to commit every detail of her face to memory; every line and freckle and wrinkle. The color of her eyes and lips, the way her eyelashes curl, the dip of her nose and the white of her teeth. All of it. He’ll need the memory of her if he wants to get through this. 

“Tomorrow,” he answers, the word nothing more than a breath off his tongue. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she confesses, already sounding upset at the prospect of him leaving. He doesn’t blame her.

“I know,” he says, reaching up and combing through her hair, smiling at the few strands of grey he finds, “but we have to. We’re so close. We can… We can get them back.” 

Pepper stares into his eyes, trailing her fingers over his eyebrows and cheekbones, like she’s also committing him to memory. It hurts to see that expression on her face. She purses her lips, eyes wet and shiny, and chokes on a smile. 

“He’d be proud of you, you know,” she says, rubbing her thumb in a soothing circle next to his eye, “he would. And he’s waiting for you to come get him.”

He sucks in a sharp lungful of air, moving his hand to rest on her jaw. Pepper smiles sadly at him. 

“God, Tony,” she whispers, shuffling closer to him until her forehead rests against his. “I love you. I love you, you have to come back to me, okay? You have to come back.”

“Honey,” he sighs, “you know I can’t promise that. Not this time.” He wishes he could. 

“Yeah, well,” she says, clearing her throat, “I’m your boss, so you have to do what I say. So, I’m telling you that you have to come back. You’re not allowed to… to die out there. Is that clear, Mr. Stark?”

And Tony smiles, a brittle and weary thing. Carefully, he places a kiss to her lips, and pulls her in close by her waist. She places her hand over the arc reactor, pressing firm but gentle enough that it doesn’t jostle in his chest. Once they break, she trails her fingers over the new silver tracks implanted in his skin, holding new and improved nanotech, waiting to melt over his skin into a new suit. They go over his arms and shoulders, up to the base of his skull and weaving over his ribs until they meet at the reactor. It’s not Extremis, but it’s no less deadly. 

“Crystal, Miss Potts.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on tumblr right [here](https://rux-ian.tumblr.com/)! :D please come say hi!


End file.
